Tremolo
by chayashix
Summary: "The gentle strains of your guitar / Play at the strings upon my heart; / Bring forth my tears when I'm undone / And so, return us to the start." Levi x Mikasa. Written for the Crimson Cravat Secret Santa, December 2013. Medical AU; implied reincarnation. Prompt: Levi playing the guitar for Mikasa. Songfic: Failure in Disguise by Jayesslee.


**Written for the Crimson Cravat Secret Santa, December 2013**  
**Prompt: AU, Levi playing the guitar for Mikasa**  
**Songfic: Failure in Disguise by Jayesslee**

* * *

**Prelude**

_The gentle strains of your guitar__  
__Play at the strings upon my heart;__  
__Bring forth my tears when I'm undone__  
__And so, return us to the start._

* * *

Chaos ricochets off the walls, drowning the hallways in a cacophony of pain and panic. Her head throbs in erratic staccatos as she struggles to keep her adrenaline going for the seventh straight hour.

"Dr. Ackerman, we need you in triage, please."

"I'm coming."

On any other day, surgeons would not be given the critical task of determining the first priority of treatment. However, a gas explosion of this magnitude on a busy pedestrian street demanded every pair of hands they had.

She reaches station 3 just as the next wave of casualties floods through the emergency room doors, their groans and cries crescendoing once more.

"…help me…"

"My husband, you must save my husband!"

"Madam, please, the doctor will see you as soon as possible, but you _must_ wait your turn."

"Somebody! Hurry… oh god there's so much blood…"

A single, placid voice rises over the ruckus. "Everyone, please stay calm. Could those who are injured and need assistance please make their way over to me." Mikasa glances over at Dr. Arlert, who nods in her direction while herding the swarm around him to the corner.

It was a cruel system, she thought. Tricking people into thinking they were getting help, only to put them at the very bottom of the queue. Still, it was standard protocol, and these people wouldn't die anytime soon if they could respond to the call on their own.

With the entryway clear, the really urgent cases could be dealt with. Gurneys freshly unloaded from ambulances trundled through, each one slotting neatly into one of the cordoned areas for initial assessment.

"Male, approximately 32. Found sitting 5 meters away from the blast site. Conscious but unable to move without assistance." The paramedic finishes his brief report, as the nursing staff set up the cardiac monitor and begin cutting away the shredded pieces of clothing.

"Sir, can you hear me? How are you feeling?"

"My left arm," he murmurs weakly. "It hurts."

"Were you thrown by the blast?"

"Mmmpf."

"Alright," Mikasa says, as she begins her diagnosis.

"Lacerations on both legs and arms. Vitals look ok," she narrates aloud. "Sir, can you move your toes and fingers?" The man wiggles faintly but obediently.

"No apparent spinal cord injury. Possibility of fracture in left arm. Morphine has already been administered?" The paramedic nods. "Yes, 5 milligrams."

"Good. Set him up for an X-ray, then send him down to ward 5." She pulls a yellow tag out from her pocket, and scribbles some notes in black marker before attaching it to the patient's wrist. "Don't worry, you're going to be fine."

The first nursing team shuffles out of the room, condemning yet another patient to an indefinite wait in the observation ward. Mikasa doesn't bother to look back; there is already another trolley being pushed in front of her.

"Male, approximately 59. Found trapped under a concrete pillar. Conscious but now heavily sedated." She dimly registers a familiar shock of sandy brown hair as his tired voice reaches her ears. "We had to drill through the rubble to get to him."

She eyes the bloody mess that used to be the man's right leg. "Besides _that_, anything else you already identified?"

Jean sighs. "He didn't appear to have been hit by anything else, so no."

They would have to do a scan to be sure, but she already knows there is no hope for his pulverized limb. His life, however, was a different matter.

She secures the red tag to the man's wrist, indicating the need for immediate treatment. "Sasha, tell Dr. Arlert I'm going into the OR." The nurse nods, scurrying off down the hall. "Let's move, people."

"Wait, look at this one first." A frantic voice prevents her from following immediately after the soon-to-be amputee; she curses inwardly at his impatience but turns around nonetheless.

"Female, approximately 10. Recovered close to the center of the blast. Currently sedated…" Eren's eyes complete the rest of his plea. He was never good at keeping his emotions separate from his work.

The girl's skin is a disaster of raw webbing, as if she's been clothed in the fire that she had barely survived. A sorry memento of a pointless miracle. Her blood pressure is dangerously low and still falling; even if she managed to pull through, Mikasa can already see the road of misery looming ahead.

"Give her another 2.5 milligrams of morphine," she orders, tying a black tag to the girl's limp wrist. "And then send her to palliative care." She begins to stride out of the room.

A hand flies out, grabbing her roughly. "What do you think you're _doing_, Mikasa?"

Whirling around, she confronts Eren's flashing green eyes with an anger of her own. "My _job_. She has severe burns on 90% of her body. It will take hours to stabilize her condition, and that's still only a 1% chance of survival. Our resources are limited."

"The other guy can wait!"

"Is that your _professional_ opinion? Who's the doctor here?" she retorts. "What I can do for her now, is to let Dr. Reiss make her as comfortable as possible in her last moments. And then go and fix the patient before her who _can_ be saved."

"Are you seriously going to abandon her to _die_? She's just a child!" he hisses.

"Whoa, whoa. We don't have time for this. Eren, come on, let's go." Silently thanking Jean for his timely intervention, she tries to put aside the stabbing in her heart as she hurries to the operating theater.

She emerges four excruciating hours later, looking around for anyone to deliver the good news to. Relatively good news, anyway – he would never be whole again, despite the successful surgery.

But the waiting room is abandoned, and the staff shrug helplessly when she asks if any of his family members have been contacted yet.

A wailing down the hall assaults her ears; turning, she sees a woman huddled over the tiny lump hidden beneath a standard hospital blanket.

"My baby! My precious daughter! Why her? Why, why…?"

The cramping in Mikasa's fingers won't stop, as she makes for the exit in the opposite direction.

The cold, dark silence of the park is a welcome contrast to the turmoil that she has just left behind. Slumping down on a nearby bench, she buries her exhausted head in her hands.

In a way, she had always envied Eren. His unstoppable desire to save lives left no room for doubt, and in his role he rarely had to pick one option over the other.

When she chose surgery all those years ago, she never realized that she would be responsible for losing lives, as well as saving them.

_Have you ever felt like you were the only one on the road?_

_Have you ever wondered, "Where has everybody gone?"_

A sonorous voice pierces through her thoughts, carried onwards by the faint echoes of a guitar. Unsure, she rises from her seat, feeling the words of the song coat her ragged senses.

_Have you ever felt abandoned?_

_Have you ever felt alone?_

Compelled by an unknown force, her feet carry her towards a lone figure, standing under the streetlamp – the pale halo cast around him by the light is like a beacon of refuge, calling out to her weariness. His dark fringe is parted, and despite the night chill is he wearing only a deep green T-shirt that outlines the power underneath. His right hand is branded with a pair of wings, which soar up and back again as he strums.

_Have you ever felt like you just stepped over the line?_

_And then, did you just pretend that everything was fine?_

She closes her eyes, drinking in the melody as the images and sensations rise unbidden to her mind. The incessant beeping of a heart monitor. The flash of silver knives, slicing through flesh. Crimson streams, pouring forth from wounds that she herself has inflicted. The sound of the wind, whistling in her ears. And – mysteriously – a pair of strong arms, wrapped tightly around her waist and carrying her trepidation.

_Have you ever felt nobody knows who you are?_

_Have you ever felt like a failure in disguise?_

She moves a little closer, reaching for a destination that she didn't know she was trying to get to. And as he lifts his eyes to meet hers, the lyrics that pour forth from his mouth speak to a place deep within her.

_Well I, I hear your cry_

_And I, I feel your pain_

_I know you try so hard_

_To make things right,_

_To overcome this endless fight_

_Just don't give up._

The final chord echoes through the air as he finishes his song. Slowly, he pushes his guitar to the side, allowing it to dangle by its strap against the small of his back. His eyes never leave hers as he steps towards her, discovering the answer to a puzzle that he doesn't quite comprehend.

He stops inches away, confusion writ upon his brows as their breaths mingle in the frigid space between them. Frowning lightly, he hesitates as the world around them comes to a standstill.

Finally, he lifts his hand to drags his thumb gently across her cheek, wiping away her forgotten tears.

"I know…" he murmurs.

And in that instant, the veil is cast away, and the walls from lifetimes past come crumbling to the ground.

"…Yes…" she whispers, tangling her fingers in his. "You do."

_I won't give up._


End file.
